


Senior Prom

by machtaholic (cinderella81)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Fluff, Girl!Stiles, High School, Prom, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderella81/pseuds/machtaholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles lets herself be convinced by Lydia to go to the Senior Prom ... and get a wonderful surprise.  Always a girl!Stiles ahead :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Senior Prom

“I feel like I look like an idiot,” Stiles mumbled as she stood in front of the Beacon Hills gym, trying to ignore the stares she was getting.

“You look fantastic,” Lydia said. “Thanks to me.”

“I don’t even know how you convinced me to do this,” Stiles replied. Her senior year had been … interesting, to say the least. Werewolves aside, she’d been applying to colleges and trying to have some semblance of a social life, balancing it with a slowly growing relationship with one Derek Hale.

“Because for once in your life you want to look pretty.” Lydia checked her makeup in her little hand mirror, before tucking it back in her purse and looking t her friend. “It’s Senior Prom, Stiles.”

“And I’m going alone,” Stiles retorted, trying valiantly to stay upright in the bright red heels Lydia had coerced her into. She’d spent most of the afternoon in Lydia’s company, getting ready for the ‘biggest dance of their senior year’. Manicure, pedicure, waxing (Stiles hadn’t screeched, nope) … hair, makeup, the works.

“Oh don’t be a party pooper,” Lydia said. “And don’t frown. Let’s go.”

Stiles sighed and tried not to fall over as she and Lydia made their way inside. She had to admit she did like the dress - it was dark red, with a bit of a 50’s flair. Sweetheart neckline, spaghetti straps and a knee length skirt with a bunch of crinoline underneath to make it … poofy. She would deny giving a girlish giggle and a twirl while safely ensconced in Lydia’s living room, but she had an odd feeling that Lydia’d caught it on her phone.

The dance was in full swing when they arrived, and they caused a bit of a stir. Lydia always caused a commotion wherever she went, but … people had never seen Stiles in makeup, much less a dress. Stiles resisted the urge to run a hand through her hair, but didn’t want Lydia to smack her hand like she’d done earlier that day.

Stiles got a cup of watered down punch and stood near the refreshment table, watching her friends slow dance. Scott and Allison (on again for the time being), were about to break some decency laws with how close they were dancing, and Lydia was dancing with her current flavor of the month. And Stiles stayed right by refreshment table, staring down at her bright red nails, trying to blend in (which was hard to do when wearing red).

Then the whispers started. It was quiet at first and Stiles barely registered it, but the murmurs got louder and louder until Stiles couldn’t ignore them. The crowds parted and Stiles’ mouth dropped open. There, making his way through the gym, was one Derek Hale. In a tux. Looking like the newest James Bond. Stiles swallowed and licked her lips, flinching at the taste of lipstick.

“Miss Stilinksi,” Derek said, offering his hand to Stiles. “Or should I call you Little Red Riding Hood?”

“Derek, what are you doing here?” Stiles whispered, automatically slipping her hand into Derek’s.

“I got a call from Lydia,” Derek murmured, tugging Stiles out onto the dance floor.

Stiles glanced over at Lydia, and gave her a small smile, mouthing ‘thank you’. She turned her attention back to Derek and grinned - in her heels she was actually looking at Derek’s eyebrows. “And you just happened to have a tux, Big Bad Wolf?” she teased.

“I called in a couple of favors,” Derek said. “Your dad knew someone.”

“You talked to my dad?” Stiles squeaked as Derek spun her around the dance floor.

“If I’m taking you to a dance, I’m not hiding anything anymore,” Derek replied. “Besides, your eighteenth birthday was a few weeks ago.”

Stiles grinned and pressed a kiss to Derek’s cheek, wiping the lipstick away with her thumb. “I’m going to be all anyone will talk about on Monday,” she muttered, trying to ignore the stares (again).

“You’ll deal with it,” Derek said, running a finger along her collarbone. “You’re beautiful, Stiles.”

“Just makeup, silly hair, a tight dress, and shoes I can barely walk in,” Stiles mumbled.

“I don’t mean all this,” Derek replied. “You are always beautiful, Stiles. Jeans and a flannel, shorts and a tank top, hair sticking up in every direction, peanut butter on your cheek, I don’t care. I love you, Stiles.”

Stiles flushed and gave Derek a gentle kiss. “Love you too, Big Bad,” she replied softly.

Senior Prom? Best night ever. And Stiles didn’t even mind the blisters she got the next day … much.


End file.
